Atonement
by iluvromnce
Summary: Hermione sits alone at night, gazing at the stars. It isn't long, however, before someone joins her and teaches her a lesson about acceptance, atonement, and the difference between what we may see and what truly is. DHr


She was smoking on the stoop in the back when he came to sit down next to her, fidgeting quite a bit. Instead of acquiescing to his obvious hope that she would initiate the conversation, she ignored him. She was gazing at the stars, and it was beyond even her self-control to keep from searching for his constellation. Not that it matters, she said to herself, it's not like he can read my mind or anything.

He sighed, which gave away the fact that he had, indeed, been waiting for her to acknowledge him. Contrary to his usual wily, evasive manner of speaking, he asked quite bluntly, "Why are you smoking? You don't smoke."

She rolled her eyes. He was unbelievable, honestly. "I'm sorry to wound your ego, but may I point out that perhaps you don't know me nearly as well as you think you do?"

He glanced at her out of the corner of his steely eyes and said, returning to his cryptic habits, "I don't know, Granger. I don't think you know _yourself _nearly as well are you think you do." Turning on his heel, he exited as suddenly as he had come, leaving Hermione nothing to do but stub her cigarette butt out furiously.

It was not until three days later that they actually spoke again. Once more, Hermione was out on the stoop when he approached her.

"I fully expect an answer this time, Granger." He then inquired, "Why are you smoking?"

"Why, hello Hermione! How has your day been?" she asked dramatically, the sarcasm dripping profusely, and then mumbled under her breath, "Aren't _you _the charmer."

He gave a feral grin and said, "I find that sometimes subtlety is overrated. And with you it is. Generally speaking…"

Hermione considered his words for a moment while taking another long drag from the cigarette, savoring the way the nicotine spread through her body, soothing her frayed nerves and making her feel at ease.

"Go away, Malfoy," she said at last.

"And you call _me_ the charmer," he said, pretending to be offended.

She ignored him, hoping that if he realized he wasn't wanted, he would leave. However, Draco did not leave, but sat and watched silently, waiting for her to put her cigarette out before speaking again.

"So, Granger. Just answer me and maybe I'll go away."

"How about I curse you, and then maybe you'll go away," she spat. It was clear that she wanted this conversation to be over.

"You wound me," he countered, holding his hand to his chest while feigning heartbreak.

They fell into silence once more, and since Hermione never furthered their conversation, Draco finally just got up and left.

The next night there was a full moon, and the stars glistened, shining brightly without a cloud in the sky. It was some time after midnight, and Hermione was beginning to think that Malfoy wasn't going to come out. This rather aggravated her. And that in itself made her angry because she detested Malfoy, and yet… she quite enjoyed the verbal sparring that they partook in. There was really no one else around Headquarters that was at her intellect lever. At least, no one close enough to her own age.

Brushing aside these thoughts, she took one more deep breath and watched the embers of the cigarette suddenly morph from a deep amber to a lifeless black. Tossing the stub into the trashcan, she turned around and ran smack into Malfoy's chest.

"Well, hello there, Granger. I'm happy to see you too." He snickered.

"Oh, shut it, Malfoy!" she snarled and made to move around him, all the while silently berating herself for being so rude; after all, hadn't she just been wishing he was around? He caught her by her wrists and forced her to stay in front of him.

Her voice quickly became something close to a whine, "What do you _want_?"

His smirk vanished instantly, and he sobered, "We need to talk."

"I fail to see anything that needs to be discussed with _you_."

"It won't work, just to let you know," he said abruptly.

And even though she knew she shouldn't, she had to ask, "What won't work?"

"The smoking." He stated simply, "It doesn't help. The pain doesn't go away. Surely you've realized this by now."

She was dumbfounded and could do nothing but stare at him in shock. This only lasted a few moments, however, until she regained her composure and said, "You are mighty presumptuous, Malfoy. You think you know everything about me. Well, let me clue you in on a little fact." She growled as she looked into his eyes and was shocked by the intensity of the gray. She wondered what secrets were hidden behind those impregnable walls. Mentally shaking her head, she glared at him, and emphasizing every word by jabbing her finger into his chest with great force, "You. Do. Not. Know me, so stop deluding yourself into thinking you do! You have no idea why I do the things that I do."

"_Actually_, Granger," he hissed venomously, "I know a lot better than you might think. At the age of thirteen I was presented before the Dark Lord and made to torture three muggleborn girls. When I was fifteen, I participated in my first Raid and killed a five-year-old boy. And then at eighteen I was inducted into the Dark Lord's forces and wallowed in death and misery for four years. And I made habits. I smoked, I drank – I found solace in anything that I thought could take the pain away for even a moment. But you know what, Granger?" His voice was steadily rising and she was surprised to hear his voice break for a second as he turned his back to her. "It doesn't help. The pain comes back. No matter what, the pain will always come back. And no drug, no drink, no amount of nicotine slowly poisoning your body will _ever_ change that."

The first cloud of the night chose that moment to pass over the moon, engulfing the night in sudden darkness. And as he turned abruptly to do inside, Hermione was glad that he had turned away and spared her the pain of looking in his eyes for those last few words. She could handle her own pain, her own weaknesses. But seeing this man, who for so long she had believed to be without emotion, lose his composure… It was proof that he was actually human. And she wasn't sure that she was able to accept that yet.

The next evening, Hermione was sitting again, in what Draco now presumed to be her favorite spot, absorbed not in the night sky as it appeared, but in her thoughts. Draco crept up silently behind her, hoping to stand and watch her for a moment before she realized he was there.

"It was because of you," she said, catching Draco off guard.

"Pardon?" he asked, not betraying his surprise.

"The smoking… I started because of you." She turned her head slightly to core into Draco's eyes with a scrutiny that was making him slightly uncomfortable.

Struggling not to show his distress, he narrowed his eyes and asked, "And how exactly did _I_ make you do that?"

She chuckled and sighed. "You remember how badly we were losing back then. This house reeked of fear and despair. We were all slowly decaying, becoming some unrecognizable mass that was incapable of _feeling_. And then you came along."

Now she rose and the power of her voice increased as she tried to get out all the emotions that were creating a tempest within her heart.

"You! The son of a Death Eater and Voldemort's right hand man!" she laughed, sounding almost hysterical, "You were the one that saved us!"

She then fell somber once more and continued, "We were alive again. We started to laugh again, to cry again, to feel again…" Her voice had begun to waver, but she showed no other signs of emotion on her impassive features. She averted her eyes from the stars and shot Draco a quick glance; "You of all people must know how hard it is to be alive when you have been dead for so many years."

He nodded quietly but didn't speak for fear of interrupting what he knew was a very difficult confession.

"So I picked up smoking. At first it was just a way to escape for a little while. An excuse to step outside it all when people who had loved each other were fighting as if they never knew love at all. When everything was immersed in chaos. When I just couldn't handle the stress… But then it became an addiction, and as much as I loathed it – after all, I _knew_ the consequences – I relished it still. It was a grain of predictability in a sea of war. And that little thing, just one small habit, was enough to keep me sane."

They were both quiet now, the only sound of the night a lone owl dolefully hooting somewhere in the distance. Wordlessly, Draco reached across the space between them and took her hand in his own. Sometimes, speech isn't really all that necessary.


End file.
